Shh
by KlipKlop
Summary: O'Neill & Carter. In a ditch. Surrounded by Jaffa. Things go horribly wrong.


"Shhh . . ."

_Warning: 3,600 words of Highly Experimental Angst, by an unpracticed author. Results not guaranteed._

_~o~_

_**Edit added 12 hours post-publishing: **Author's Note. This story was written as a Sneaky Santa Christmas Present for Gateworld user ES! It is based on a fabulous colored drawing she did some months back. It really helps explain this ficlet, I highly recommend my readers check it out. It can be found in EwigeStudentin "drawings" album on PhotoBucket._  
_Additionally, I would like to let readers know that the secrecy surrounding the delivery of this presentfic required me to adopt the KlipKlop alias. My permanent penname on FFnet is polomare. But if you're looking for angst, there is not much there, I'm really known more for my humor and fluff (hence the original "unpracticed author" warning for the angst)._

_Special thanks to Gateworld's WraithCat for helping to deliver the present to ES!_

_~o~  
_

Funny how your heartbeat can sound louder than a bass drum under the right circumstances. _Is it really louder?_ Carter wondered, _Or does the presence of adrenaline in the bloodstream improve hearing?_ Is it possible she could actually give away her position to their pursuers because they could hear her heartbeat? Or was it just her hysteria-induced imagination? Idle thoughts about setting up an audio experiment in her lab to test such theories danced around the back of her brain, while the front took an inventory of the positions and number of Jaffa they had to contend with. _Two by the gate. Five on a flanking search grid to our direct north by northwest. _An additional Jaffa had disappeared alone into the bushes behind the gate immediately after arrival. _Bathroom break_, Carter surmised.

She checked the clip in her M9 Beretta. _Dammit._ She counted twice just to make sure. Eight rounds left and eight hostiles to deal with. _That's just great_. She pushed her head into the dirt embankment behind her while she simultaneously slammed the clip back into the weapon in frustration. She immediately regretted the noise it made. Her whole body stiffened, she had to swallow hard, and listen even more intently than before. A moment ticked away. Another. Yet another, just to make sure. Finally satisfied that she had not given away their position with her carelessness, she let her head once again fall back against the loamy dirt. The cold clamminess of it seeped through her hair and spread coolness across the back of her skull. It was oddly refreshing somehow. She let her mouth gape open, trying to take as large but shallow breaths as possible to equalize her breathing. Dragging the Colonel to the only viable cover she could find had really over-exerted her. There was an icepick of pain behind her eyes, no doubt caused by cranial blood vessels that had swelled beyond comfortable capacity. Her lungs felt like she had inhaled a pack of razor blades. But the mad dash had been worth it. She had managed to successfully conceal them both. For now.

She had been on autopilot. Just grabbed him and ran. No time for triage. Now she noticed he had been quiet. Really quiet. Not even a moan of pain since she saw him take a full-blast staff hit to the abdomen. Without lifting her head, she slid her hand down her thigh to where her commanding officer lay motionless. Her sightless search quickly found his shirt collar. She slipped her fingertips under the fabric, placing them against his carotid artery. His skin was surprisingly dry. She was drenched in icy sweat herself. She couldn't find a pulse. Denial shored her resolve. _I just need to try again. I'm not doing it right. _She pulled her fingers out and wiped them frantically on her pants leg to wipe off the dirt. She refused to lift her head to look at him, because that would count as an acknowledgment that she was panicked. At this point, panic could only come from learning that the worst was possible. She squeezed her eyes painfully tight. A large bead of sweat slipped quickly down her nose and clung annoyingly to the tip of her subnasal ridge. It tickled her, daring her to wipe it away. But somehow she thought if she had the discipline to ignore its presence, that would prove she was stronger than all of this. She was in control. Any fear that would manifest inside of her could only be the fear of the unspoken tragedy they both knew they faced on a daily basis. If she could prevent the fear from coming into existence, so too, she could banish the tragedy by sheer force of will. _The universe works that way, right?_

She once again made the tentative reach under his shirt. She found the point of his shoulder, then traced his collarbone. When she met his sternum, she drew her fingers hesitantly up his neck. Her index finger, her middle finger and then her ring finger bounced carefully over the small bump of his Adam's apple. She mapped out his jawbone and then came to rest her two fingers immediately below his earlobe. She knew what she was doing, she was avoiding the area she needed to be in by circling it unnecessarily. There was no reason to wait any longer. She drew two fingers halfway down his neck, between tendons and trachea, just like they taught in field medic training. She was sure she was doing this right.

She waited. Listened. Hoped.

Nothing.

She pressed deeper, frantically probing the area where she knew the artery would be. Panic was winning. She could no longer pretend everything was okay. She left the reassuring headrest of dirt and curled her body over his head. Her spine curved into a painfully compressed arch. Like a mother shading a baby, she made a protective turtle shell around him. Gripping both sides of his jaw, she pulled him fully into her lap.

But she refused to open her eyes. Oh, no, she wasn't. She was not going to stare into the cold dead eyes of Jack O'Neill. Not now. Not yet, not today, not ever. They would grow old together and die companionably in their sleep. In a hammock. On a beach. On an untouched paradise planet. Too much of the life that was rightfully theirs had been stolen from them for it to end like this. This was unacceptable.

Bitter acidic tears burned the back of her lids. She pulled him closer and closer. Curling even more tightly around him, her vertebrae screamed in pain, but she didn't care. She pressed her cheek to him, the sandy smear of dirt on her face meeting the faint stubble on his. Her lower lip twisted in anguish. Her chest heaved. A giant, dry, gasping sob rushed out of her like a bellows. She wanted to scream. Scream loud enough to strip the leaves off every tree in this forest and shatter the moon in the sky above to a billion shards of rock. She needed every life form on this planet to experience her agony and be as devastated by it as she was. But there was a soldier inside her. And that soldier cruelly slammed a lid on her emotional state and demanded her silence. The ultimate insult was that her current situation didn't even allow her to grieve properly.

She complied because she had to. Because she knew Jack would want her to. She would be quiet because her life depended on it, but she would not let him go. She squeezed him tighter still as she began to shiver. The response was physiological, no amount of emotional control could prevent it. The drying sweat in her saturated clothes sent a chill down to the very center of her bone marrow as the fading warmth from Jack's lifeless body did little to combat it. The ghastly thought crossed her mind that this is what it feels like to die inside.

Her mind went blank. The noise of emotional pain blocking out all useful thought. Like standing in front of a TV station tuned to pure static, she just let herself be blasted with a wall of empty grief. She was catatonic, suspended between the impossible fantasy of all the _what ifs _and the scathing, burning reality of _what is. _Minutes, moments, hours, lifetimes. . . went by in her mind. She didn't know how long she was in this holding pattern when she was suddenly startled by the sensation of a bug crawling through her hair.

She gasped, pulled back, and swatted fiercely at her hairline, hoping to rid herself of the offensive intruder. It took a split second for her dull senses to transmit the tactile information from her hand to her brain, but before it even got to her cerebellum, Carter's most basic instinct told her something wasn't right. That wasn't a bug. No amount of blinking could clear her blurry double vision. She struggled to make sense of the hand she felt hovering in the airspace beside her head. Soldier Carter kicked in again and immediately demanded an assessment of the threat level and a plan of action to disable said threat.

"Carber . . ."

She let go of Jack instantly. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes flew wide. An unbearably excruciating twinge of hope, far sharper and far more acute than the grief, pierced her body like a skewer from head to toe. _It was Jack's hand. _Her disbelief was positively disabling. All she could do was reach out with trembling fingers, she intended to touch his cheek, but couldn't bring herself any closer than an inch away.

"Jack?" the raw emotion combined with her desperation to keep quiet twisted her voice into a painful squeak.

All he could manage was a muddy mumble.

"You're_ alive_!" Her rejoicing, ironically just like her grieving, was cruelly tempered by the need to keep quiet. But that's ok. Carter decided she could live with that. A watery, happy smile burst through the tears that were flooding now. She was so glad his eyes were closed. She would never, ever want him to see her like this.

His hand was still in the air, open palm towards her, as if he had forgotten about it himself. She eagerly reached for it, clasping it tightly in both of her hands. She shuttered through her whispered words. "I thought you were dead."

"No deb. Kelby reaming."

"Huh?" That didn't make sense. Sam watched him lick his lips painfully, that gave her the idea to offer him some water. She reached immediately for the emergency water pack in the lower front pocket of her BDU and helped him drink from the flexible straw. It was a good idea. His voice was still a weak whisper, but it cleared.

"Teal'c. I asked him to teach me how to do that. You know, lower your heart rate and all that jazz . . . Minimize your body's energy consumption so it can heal fast."

Carter blinked in surprise. She thought nothing could be more shocking then having her dead commanding officer come back to life in her arms. Stroking her hair, no less. But Jack O'Neill practicing the ancient and sacred art of Kel'No'Reem? That was a very close second.

"Sir, I had no idea. Your proficiency is astounding." Sam raised the back of her hand to the bottom of her nose to rid herself of the last remnants of a final clinging teardrop. She sniffed.

"Yeah, well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't brag that around. Daniel will never let me live it down."

She smiled. It was a delicate, vulnerable smile that said she was only too happy to give Jack whatever he wanted at this point. She nodded quickly. "Deal."

"What's our-" Jack was still in a lot of pain. She could tell. He had yet to open his eyes. "...status?" he had to force the word out.

"Well..." Carter decided it was time to risk a quick peek over the embankment. "It's a lot better than it was five minutes ago." She couldn't see anything of note. All of the Jaffa were out of sight. That worried her more. "But, it's still not good." She settled back into her now familiar nook of dirt. "Our firepower is limited to my sidearm. There are eight Jaffa actively looking for us. We're cut off from the gate and our next scheduled check-in with the SGC isn't for another four hours." She paused to take a breath. She continued more slowly, less sure of her coming words. "Of course we can establish radio contact at that time and request they send an extraction team, but..." adrenaline fatigue was chipping away at her clarity of mind. "I'm afraid that-"

Jack's eyes snapped open, and the two team members were instantly eye to eye, pupil to pupil with each other. He didn't have to search for her to make eye contact. It's as if he had been focused on her, even when his eyelids were closed. His gaze was so flat, his eye sockets so startlingly hollow, that the sight made Carter's words choke in her throat, trapped by a painful gulp. She couldn't continue. Jack continued for her, even as a renewed scorch of pain seared through his body, causing his sentence to end in a shuddering hiss. "You don't think I'll live that long."

His words had the ring of a terrifying prophecy. A prediction of a future she had already seen and suffered through. _No! _She tried to feign anger, hoping it would give her the appearance of physical strength that they both knew she needed if she was going to get them out of this alive. A strength she hoped he'd draw on. "Actually, I was thinking that we wouldn't be able to remain _hidden_ for that long." She squinted her eyes to make a point. "But it's nice to know that after I nearly bust a gut dragging your sorry ass across a hundred meters of bad country that you're ready to give up." She quickly added an intentional, sarcastic afterthought. "_Sir_."

The word hung on the air between them as a staring contest began anew. Jack gritted his teeth and looked like he was searching his memory for a military precedent that would allow him to bring her up on formal charges for disrespecting a superior officer. A tremor had developed in his neck muscles, causing his jaw to tremble slightly when he spoke. "Major Carter," his voice was stern "Are you saying that I'm fat?"

She didn't miss a beat. "You could stand to lose a few pounds sir, yes sir." Her poker face remained perfectly intact. Jack's didn't. A crooked smile curled the corner of his lips, giving Sam permission to do the same. She lost the staring contest. They were both relieved to let out stale, ragged breaths and renew themselves with fresh, deep breaths of forest air.

"Maybe you just need to get in better shape, soldier." Jack teased. It was good for him, to tease her like that. It was a moment where he was distracted from the pain. But the moment didn't last. He raised his hand to his abdomen, tentatively probing the edges of the staff blast wound with his fingers. Carter made a face. She clearly didn't approve of him poking around the raw tissue and exposed muscle, but she didn't say anything, knowing he'd be curious about the extent of his injuries. She hadn't had a chance to get a good look at it herself.

"I should bandage this wound. . ." O'Neill knew there was emergency medical gauze and antibiotic dressing in his lower left thigh pocket. Carter knew it too. He reached down his leg, searching for the supply. She immediately grabbed his wrist, halting his movement. He looked up at her, puzzled. "What?"

"It's velcro." As if that explained her unexpected choice to restrain him.

Jack thought about it for a second and then decided, nope, that didn't explain anything. "So?" he questioned.

She lowered her voice further, reminding him he needed to do the same. "Velcro is really loud when you tear it open, and we don't know where the Jaffa are."

Realization visited him. "Ah." This was the absolute worst time for an inappropriate rant. But Jack was Jack. And perhaps he was a little bit delirious. "Damn Velcro Consortium and their space-age fabric fasteners! Give me a good old-fashioned button closure any day. You know, I've warned General Hammond that the Velcro Mafia has been conspiring to take over the world since the 1980's, starting with their infiltration of military textiles. I suggested a FBI task force be formed to pursue the masterminds, but _no_-"

"Shh!"

He was startled out of his tirade by Carter's hand slamming over his mouth. Sam was nowhere near the mood to appreciate his dry sense of humor. Or any humor for that matter. But it wasn't just that, something else was going on. What had her on high alert? He watched her from his awkward position on the ground. With her left hand outstretched to his mouth, and her right hand firmly in possession of her firearm- she was completely immobile, and holding her breath. Jack couldn't help but do the same in response to her behavior. He searched what he could see of her profile for clues as to what was going on. A couple of heartbeats went by . . . then, he heard it. The snap of a twig under a boot, accompanied by the distinctive scrape of Jaffa battle armor against itself. Talk about a wardrobe fail. Jaffa clothing was definitely not conducive to covert surveillance in close quarters. Jack wondered if those flashy headpieces they wore were attached with some kind of Goa'uld velcro.

Jack halted his idle musings when a foreboding shadow descended upon his position. He sensed it before he clearly saw it. He squinted through the sparse branches dancing above Carter's head. He saw only grey sky. Or, so he thought. His depth perception adjusted and he realized the grey he saw was not of the sky beyond, but the dull metal armor of a Jaffa soldier just feet away! He squirmed under Carter's hand, trying to alert her without making a sound. She only pressed her hand tighter in response. She didn't know the Jaffa was immediately above her. She couldn't see what he could see from his point of view. He had to let her know the danger she was in, had to give her an advantage, a head start, somehow. Even if it was only a split second. The foot soldier was scanning the countryside from his position on the overlooking ridge, but it was inevitable that he would see them. At any moment he would look down and then they were screwed.

Jack dug his fingers into the dirt at his side, recklessly clawing through the debris on the forest floor. He tore his fingernails, he didn't care. He probed frantically up and down the side of his body, looking for anything that might help them. The Jaffa adjusted his staff weapon from one hand to the other, he was still looking into the distance, but Jack could tell the soldier's alertness level seemed to have peaked slightly. He could probably smell the proximity of his prey. _Finally_. Jack's search of the dirt around him paid off. He found a rock with some decent weight and heft to it. Carter's focus snapped sharply upwards and Jack knew she was now fully aware. He reached up with his left hand and gave her wrist a meaningful squeeze, begging her to look at him. She did so, and he held the rock up between thumb and forefinger of his right hand for her to see. His intention was clear. Carter's eyes went wide, she shook her head in fierce disagreement. "_NO!" _she mouthed.

No time to put it to a vote. O'Neill chucked the rock as hard as he could over his head, 9 o'clock to their position. As he hoped, the rock tore through some leaves and then skittered across a slab of stone some 30 feet away. "Carter, SHOOT HIM!" The Jaffa fell for the distraction; with his attention split, he was too confused to make sense of the sudden shouting below. Carter simultaneously cocked her weapon and sprung to her feet while spinning 180° in one fluid motion with her firing arm outstretched. She aimed the Beretta with the accuracy and deft assurance of a laser-guided missile. With the enemy's skull just a few short meters from Carter's gun, the poor bastard didn't have a chance. No doubt the last thing his wide-open eyes saw in this life was a muzzle flash. Jack wasn't sure at first where the bullet went. A half moment later, a telltale stream of black-red blood trickled out of the dead center of his forehead tattoo. _Nice! _Jack couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of her marksmanship. He watched as the Jaffa's rigid form teetered slightly, backwards at first, then an unstoppable forward slump landed the body directly at Carter's feet with a heavy thud.

The report of the gunshot echoed multiple times throughout the landscape. "_Jaffa, Kree!" _Distant war cries came to them on the wind. Carter immediately crouched back down. "Great! We just gave away our position to the whole forest."

Jack was buoyed by their success. He felt his strength returning. His body was becoming accustomed to its injury, the bleeding had stopped and the shock was wearing off. He rolled over on his uninjured side and propped himself up slightly with Carter's hand to steady him. He groaned a little from the effort. "Yeah, but you know what?" His newfound demeanor was encouraging. "Now we have his staff weapon. And a fighting chance."

Sam's blue eyes smiled. They might just grow old together after all.

~o~

_~fin~_


End file.
